For Jacqueline

Dearest Jacqueline,

We used to talk on the telephone, have dinner, or just be together to laugh with our friends. I loved to hear your voice, with a hint of a French accent, just enough to make it cute, and the “s” you added to words to mean more than one. I corrected you a hundred times and it was always the same, “Did I say that? I didn’t mean to. I’ll never learn.” To hear it was so lovable that after a while I just smiled and you innocently wanted to know what was so funny. I wish I could hear it again.

I often told you how strong you were, your constant drive and ambition against the pervasive prejudices of business. You loved it, you had to do it, you had to win, and you did, it was your nature. You started with nothing and success followed like a little puppy dog, and like the puppy, your success grew to where everyone knew the one name, “Jacqueline.” Jacqueline was enough, and it said all.

The foreboding illness arrived slowly and in time consumed every thought, every moment. It clamped like an unyielding trap to dominate your life. You were brave and again showed your strength against the inevitable suffering that came time and time again. “I’ll never make it,” you warned. I didn’t believe you, but when you rested, I had to look up and ask that I not believe.

I held your hand and touched your cheek at your last breath, so low and gentle that it was almost silent, and then it was, so still, so quiet, as if a wall had come between us. I waited for the slightest sound, but there was none. I pressed the red light, a doctor arrived, the machine hummed, he showed me the graph – the machine hummed twice more, each time seemingly louder and longer– more shocking straight lines, not a wave or quiver. It was your last signature. Those lines loomed heavy, dark and thick, as if an iron gate had swung closed. It was another barrier between us.

After a while the leaden silence and quiet became assuring, and the barriers slowly dissolved, giving way to complacency, peace, satisfaction, and relief. Satisfaction and relief now like a confession, that all is well, no pain, no struggle, no false thoughts, or useless hope. It was a beginning, a beginning of memories that will be eternal.

The way I must now tell you about our friends, and give you news, is to stand at your grave, and look down where you lie, as in a movie cliché seen so many times that their meanings are lost. But this will be true and real, not a movie, and my emotions will not be lost. They will heal and fill a dark empty space within as I call upon our memories.

Dearest Jacqueline, you will never be forgotten. You will always be here walking amongst us. Time will pass quickly to when all of us will be with you as it used to be. You will not be lonely. We loved you before, we love you now, we will always love you, as God will, forever. Henry